Never Just An Accessory
by Darkwood Princess
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that if something exists, it is there for a reason. Seven uses for those glittery pirate sashes in the Mirror universe.


_**AN: So this idea has been bouncing around in my head ever since I rewatched "Mirror Mirror" with my roommate and her boyfriend. I firmly believe those sashes have a use, other than making the Mirror crew look like sexy pirates. So without further ado…**_

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that when something is there, it's there for a reason. However, Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, couldn't for the life of himself figure out the use of the glittery gold parade sash wrapped around his waist. As he was currently trapped in a mirror universe, and as such had other problems to worry about, the thought was pushed to the backburner. He was much happier for the knife at his waist, though the Captain would never admit it. Unnecessary violence was abhorred where he came from, yet it didn't stop him from cherishing the only items he had to defend himself with. Maybe the sash was there to be a knife holder? _

_All the events ran together and, one thing following another, Jim found himself safe on his Enterprise a few hours later with nothing more than a large headache to sort out. A large headache, a few extra questions, and plenty of hours to think between filing his report and heading on to the next starbase. Little did Jim realize that the sash he had shoved aside as less than useful, was in fact a tool utilized by every crew member of that alternate universe… _

_Mirror Kirk_

Marlena would never see it coming, he thought, sneaking up on the woman in science blues as she bent over a half-finished 'vaccine'. James knew well enough that any vaccine of McCoy's was likely to cause more harm than good. He also knew that when Marlena was this distracted, it was deliciously easy to catch her off guard. Off came the gold sash, ready to capture his latest conquest.

Marlena didn't see the cloth descending on her until it was too late. Her slides slipped out of delicate hands, shattering on the counter. The captain was lucky nothing contagious was actually in those. For once. She felt herself pulled backwards and into the embrace of one of the men in her life. Even the Captain's Woman played the field, she was no idiot. And yet…

It was good to be her.

_Mirror McCoy_

The way the redshirted Andorian lieutenant's face was turning that shade of purple was highly fascinating. Curious, McCoy tugged a little harder on the doomed alien's uniform sash, cutting off the air to the already oxygen starved individual. Leonard "Bones" McCoy had always wondered what color someone blue turned when you choked them. And then Lieutenant Thrash had come in for his physical.

"Well," he drawled with a smirk, "No time like the present to test a theory." Besides, the Andorian had insulted his sickbay, calling it a pleasant enough place to visit compared to some of the ones on his homeworld. Pleasant? Sickbay?

_Please. _

Thrash's struggling ceased and McCoy shrugged. Obviously, blue people turned purple when starved of air. He moved onto his next target, the scandalously dressed Nurse Chapel over in the corner. Nothing hurt the hobgoblin first officer more than messing with his women.

_Mirror Spock_

Spock found himself unbearable displeased, as far as Vulcans could be. He was currently hanging off the edge of a pipe in Engineering, with nothing more than a flimsy gold sash holding his weight. His predicament was partly his fault, as he had not felt like insulting the visiting Star Fleet Brass by having his bodyguards present and visible. It was, however, mostly the fault of the man above him, laughing at the dangling half-Vulcan who had possessed the presence of mind to catch himself several floors down with the twisting, glittery cloth. Admiral Cartwright smirked, pleased to prove his worth over a 'filthy halfbreed', as he termed it. He would not be so pleased later that evening when he found several Vulcan crewmembers in his quarters.

One did not mess with the first officer. Ever.

_Mirror Sulu_

The Head of Security's smirk was infamous by now. Those seeing it realized that some poor soul was going down and going down hard. The soul in question today was the less than prudent, yet devastatingly beautiful Ensign MacGuyvers. She had been stringing along the scarred Security Chief, the head of Biotech, a lieutenant commander named Farvell, and Engineer Scott for a little over a year now. Of the three who found out, Sulu was least pleased. So, he devised a plan to get back at the wench.

Ensign MacGuyvers consented to the gold cloth tied as a blindfold rather easily. She found it sweet that her flames always treated her with such romance, and Sulu played with that misplaced romanticism heavily. As he lead her down the hall, he tried not to laugh at how easily this romantic dream was going to morph into a nightmare…

They entered a room within a few minutes. "Are we almost there, love?" she asked, voice sweet and seductive. Sulu bit back the frown at her tone, knowing women were fickle and her betrayal should not have been taken personally.

Then again, he hadn't become Head of Security by letting people get away with slights to his authority and person.

Sulu pulled his sash from around her eyes with a flourish, letting MacGuyvers feast her eyes on the broken form of Farvell. He considered killing her then and there but let it slide, knowing that true pain festered with time.

No one cheated on Hikaru Sulu, not even curvaceous redheads.

_Mirror Chekov _

Chekov pressed the glittering material against his injured leg, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He didn't dare report to sickbay, only green rookies did that. And they didn't last very long.

Curse that DeSalle! The man wanted his job and Chekov refused to back down. Any officer worth surviving refused to give up a post, and Pavel Andreiveich Chekov was a survivor. Besides, DeSalle was an idiot if he thought that the youngest fleet member was going to be a weakling. Only devious men survived the Imperial Academy. Idiots need not apply. Except for DeSalle of course…

The man lay next to him on the floor of Chekov's room, chest sporting a couple dozen throwing knives. DeSalle was one of those who took pride in his ability to accomplish a kill without needing backup. Many would claim that his pride had killed him, that his ignorance of skill and insistence that age was a true factor in officer candidacy was his downfall.

Pride may have been invented in Russia, but Chekov knew when to have it. As he carefully bandaged his leg, fixing the problem for the moment, Pavel smiled, grinning at the stupidity of others and thanking his parents over again for having him take certain weapons courses.

After all, a Russian was a better than a French man any day.

_Mirror Scotty _

Scotty sighed as his bloody stupid uniform got in the way of work again. That dumb sash had a tendency to get caught on corners and edges. He had lost track of how many times it had snagged in the Jefferies tubes and gotten stuck in the lift doors.

'_No,'_ he thought with a frown, as he pulled the sash off again, _'the only use for this stupid cloth is to mop up coolant leakage.' _

So mop it up he did.

_Mirror Uhura_

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura sighed as she rearranged the sash on her hips to hide the purple bruise rising there. Security Chief Sulu had been more than a little rough in his latest pursuit of her, and, as much as she enjoyed their back and forth game, she disliked showing weakness.

A purple hand shaped bruise was definitely a sign of weakness.

Women on this ship had to maintain an image. They had to be strong, sexy, and capable. Being beautiful alone would get you nowhere. She thought of some of their Captain's conquests and sighed. Those women had all been fools. And now they were dead.

Nyota did not want to die.

No, she would bide her time, play these men like cards, and come out ahead. And as for this stupid bruise?

A perfectly positioned sash would hide her pain.

… _They say ignorance is bliss. Perhaps it's better that Jim Kirk never knew how wrong he was in his assumptions that a piece of cloth is ever a simple fashion statement. _

_For love, curiosity, necessity, revenge, healing, maintenance, and illusion are all the domain of a simple, glittering sash._

**AN: So there it is, the idea that's been bumping around my brain for a week. Reviews are love people and will be used to purchase a shiny new sash for myself!**


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